


The Ones That Entertain

by vaguesalvation



Category: Super Junior
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:58:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguesalvation/pseuds/vaguesalvation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things go Henry's way in China.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ones That Entertain

Ryeowook isn’t certain what the drinking age in Canada is, but he has a feeling it isn’t eighteen. Even if it is, Henry seems a little young, a little naïve, to be downing shots of tequila quite so comfortably. Sure, he’s had a bit to drink himself, more than a bit by some people’s standards, but he can drink anyone in Super Junior-M under the table. He has nothing to worry about. He could probably still walk a straight line and recite all the wards in Seoul in alphabetical order if prompted. He doesn’t think Henry would be so lucky.

“Maybe you should slow down,” he says, resting his hand over the rim of Henry’s empty glass to prevent the younger boy from pouring more alcohol for himself. Henry looks vaguely disgruntled, and a little confused, by the fingers covering his glass. His brow wrinkles and his lips jut out in a pout that really shouldn’t do such questionable things to Ryeowook’s self-control.

“Hyung,” Henry whines, and it’s uncharacteristic of him, because he’s always complaining about the members treating him like a baby.

The tone makes Ryeowook’s stomach turn, and he grips the glass tighter, pulling it closer to him. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“I’m an adult now, you know,” Henry says, turning glassy eyes toward Ryeowook. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’ll believe that when you’re lucid enough to walk yourself back to the van,” he replies.

He’s not used to this. Sure he’s always had more of a maternal instinct than the rest of Super Junior, save maybe Sungmin, but he’s never really been the “responsible” one. He’s never had to be. Leeteuk was always plenty responsible for the whole of SME. But since coming to China, since becoming so close to Henry, Ryeowook has felt less and less like the eternal maknae. Kyuhyun hardly ever made him feel this way, and Kibum sure as hell never had. It was strange, being older, more experienced, but not necessarily in a bad way.

“Hyung,” Henry says again, leaning over so that his cheek rests heavily against Ryeowook’s shoulder. His arms slide from atop the table to his sides and he seems more than content to just stay there.

All the contact, and the smell of Henry’s shampoo and the leftover taste of soju in his mouth makes Ryeowook feel a little uncomfortable though. He shifts, but Henry doesn’t take the hint. Actually, Henry seems to move even closer, turning his head so that his face is pressed to the crook of Ryeowook’s neck. Hot breath ghosts across Ryeowook’s skin, a little moist from Henry’s tongue when it darts out to wet his lips.

And, okay, that’s enough of that.

He jumps, moving his shoulder out from under Henry’s cheek and sliding out of the booth with the fluid of someone who made a living dancing on a stage. Henry throws his hands out to catch himself before he falls, looking blearily up through the light fringe of his side bangs at Ryeowook like it was entirely Ryeowook’s fault he can’t keep himself upright on his own.

And he looks so much like what Ryeowook images he must look on his knees, eyes clouded with lust as Ryeowook grips his jaw, forces his mouth open and fits his cock inside. It’s not as if he’s thought about fucking Henry’s pretty mouth a lot. It’s just that, he’s a man, regardless of some of the crazier fangirls’ fantasies, and, yeah, he’s thought about it a few times.

“You should go back to the dorms,” he says, more warns, and he hopes Henry thinks it’s because it would be bad publicity for them if photos of their alcohol-intolerant maknae surfaced on the web, and not because Ryeowook wants to kiss him until he’s dazed from something else entirely.

Even Henry’s laughter sounds slurred.

He helps Henry stumble out of the booth, holds him just far enough away that the younger boy can’t fall into him again. He looks around the club, searching for their manager, for Hangeng, for anyone that knows enough Chinese to call their driver. He spots Donghae on the dance floor, grinding against multiple bodies that may or may not be female. It takes him a few minutes, but he finds Kyuhyun and Zhoumi by the bar. He hauls Henry after him, surprised at his own strength.

The two don’t notice them at first, too deep in a discussion that Ryeowook neither can nor has any desire to understand. He’s a little annoyed at Kyuhyun’s proficiency in Chinese, almost hates how effortlessly the syllables fall from his lips. And at first, he’d been slightly jealous of the way Zhoumi’s eyes never seem to leave those lips. Now, though, now he’s too irritated by their dancing around the issue that is their epic true love to care.

“Hey, guys,” he says, catching their attention. Kyuhyun stops talking mid-sentence and narrows his eyes at them. Zhoumi just smiles.

“What’s up?” Zhoumi asks.

He pushes Henry a little bit in front of him, until Zhoumi instinctively reaches out to steady the younger boy.

“I think we should probably get him home. He’s drunker than Donghae probably is.”

“That’s doubtful,” Kyuhyun says, glancing up at the dance floor where his eyes must land on Donghae for a moment. “Hyung’ll probably have the entire female population pregnant by the end of the night.”

Zhoumi pinches Kyuhyun’s elbow and ignores the indignant sound that it elicits. He’s still smiling at Henry and Ryeowook.

“We’ll call you guys a cab,” he says, “Kui Xian and I were thinking about going somewhere quieter so we can talk anyway.”

“Oh, well, I don’t have to go with him. I was thinking about staying, looking after Donghae.” Ryeowook reasons, earning him a strangely knowing glance from Kyuhyun and a worried stare from Zhoumi.

“Well, Geng-ge and Shi Yuan are still here somewhere,” Zhoumi says, “I’m sure they won’t leave without him.”

“And you probably shouldn’t leave Henry alone,” Kyuhyun adds, leering.

Ryeowook could wring Kyuhyun’s neck for all the trouble he is, but he wouldn’t want the trouble that goes along with injuring one of the favorites. He settles for glaring, though how effective it is seems doubtful.

“Hyung,” Henry says, looking back at him, “I don’t want to be alone, Hyung.”

And Ryeowook curses every god known to the earth at the moment, but he feels himself nod. It’s with the utmost reluctance that he follows Zhoumi and Kyuhyun to the door, resigned to letting Henry lean against him now. He figures if he’s going to hell, he might as well make it for a reason. Is it still a sin if he promises not to touch?

The ride back to the dorm is uneventful. Henry stays to his side of the seat, mostly. And Ryeowook is able to breathe with minimal difficulty. It smells like cat piss and ashtray in the cab and it’s enough of a turn off that Ryeowook feels himself relax a little.

He’s stuck with the cab fare because Henry is too shit-faced to dig his wallet out of his pants, and he tugs the younger boy up the dorm steps with him. He hopes that if any paparazzi followed them, they think the two of them are standing so close because they’re talking, though he’s been on the internet enough to know that those hopes are in vain.

It takes him a few minutes to fish his keys from his jeans pocket, setting a swaying Henry against the wall while he maneuvered the door open. It takes little effort to coax Henry inside.

And that’s when things really start to go downhill.

He has every intention of guiding Henry back to the bedroom in the back. Even if Zhoumi and Kyuhyun have worked out that they do, in fact, wish to fuck like rabbits, they’d agreed to keep Henry in their room when they’d first come to China. Ryeowook is not going to subject himself to tucking Henry into the bed beside his own. Besides, it’s Donghae’s, and though he can’t even kid himself into thinking Donghae would mind sharing, he’s already made his decision.

Henry has other plans, however.

He yelps, a slightly embarrassing noise even for him, when he pushes Henry into his bed and finds himself falling after the younger boy, his wrist caught in Henry’s grip. He has to spread his hands on either side of Henry’s head to keep from falling face first into Henry’s chest, but his palms only touch the soft cotton of Henry’s pillow for a moment before he feels himself tilting, his balance thrown off by strong legs wrapping around his hips, and he’s flipped. Henry looks down at him with a smug smile, and Ryeowook’s breath catches. He feels a little betrayed.

“Henry—”

“Hyung,” Henry says. It sounds like a purr. He wonders, despite himself, how Henry’s chest must feel when he says that word, if it rumbles the same way Ryeowook’s does at hearing it.

It’s not a good idea, but Ryeowook doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he settles them on Henry’s waist. His head spins, this is too dangerous, too close to the dreams he pretends not to remember in the morning. Only, in his dreams he isn’t the one on his back.

He tightens his grip on Henry’s waist when Henry’s head dips and lips brush the underside of his jaw. Unconciously, he tips his head back, exposing more of himself.

“Henry,” he says, and it’s a little hard to breathe now, “stop. Let me up.”

Henry groans, and the vibration against his throat makes Ryeowook shudder. He’s too hard to ignore now. He wills himself not to rock his hips against Henry’s, though he can feel Henry through his jeans, hard too.

“Come on, this is a bad idea,” he tries to reason. “Henry, stop.”

“Don’t wanna.”

Ryeowook shuts his eyes tight and takes a deep breath. It’s against his better judgment that he slides his hands a little higher on Henry’s waist and whispers, “What do you want?”

He feels Henry smile against his neck, and then they’re making eye contact again, Henry lifting up so they’re faces are millimeters apart. Henry’s eyes are blurry this close up, but they’re beautiful either way.

“I want you to fuck me.”

And Ryeowook would like to know who taught Henry to say that, because words have never affected him quite like those do. He moans, presses his head back against the pillow and inhales deeply.

It’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but he opens his eyes again, trying to convey just how serious he is with one look. “We can’t. You’re drunk.”

He thinks that gets the message across, it must with the way Henry sighs. But a second later, Henry’s eyes are narrowing, and there’s a keenness, a coherence there that wasn’t before.

“Not nearly as much as you think I am.”

He opens his mouth to protest, because he swears, not two minutes ago Henry was having issues standing on his own. Now he thinks he’s sober enough to make a decision like having Ryeowook fuck him? Does Henry even know what those words entail?

He doesn’t get out more than half a syllable before his lips are covered by Henry’s, and it’s instinctive, natural to just close his eyes, to let Henry kiss him. He’s missed this, the eagerness of a tongue sliding between his lips, hands that fist the sheets beside his ears. But there’s an awkwardness in it, one that belies Henry’s innocence, and it makes him feel like a creep.

He has to move his hands to cup Henry’s jaw to pull the younger boy off him enough to say, “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Henry laughs again and says, “Do you ever consider that that’s exactly what I want you to do to me?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

A hand covers one of his own, taking it away from Henry’s face and guiding it down until it covers Henry’s very obvious erection. He gasps, though not in surprise. Henry’s voice is low and tinged in lust when he says, “I know enough.”

He’s still reluctant, but Henry dips his head again, and their lips brush as Henry continues speaking.

“Come on, Wookie-ah. I want you. Please.”

It’s the “please” that gets him, that has him surging upward, hands moving to Henry’s hips and flipping them again until he’s settled between Henry’s spread legs. He’s always had a thing for begging.

“Say it again,” he says, sliding his hands up under Henry’s thin tank top, scraping blunt nails down Henry’s sides.

Henry arches into him, eyes closing and head tilting back. Ryeowook takes the exposure for what it means, another way for him to get at Henry’s skin, and Henry keens under him, voice breaking on a moan that sounds suspiciously like Ryeowook’s name.

“Please,” Henry gasps, tangling his fingers in the fabric of Ryeowook’s shirt and pulling him closer.

Ryeowook isn’t inexperienced when it comes to sex, by any means. And he’s topped a fair amount in his life, despite what some people may think about him. His and Jongwoon’s relationship had been mostly even, and Sungmin has no problem rolling over for anyone. So, he knows what he’s doing, there’s nothing scary about being the one to undress, to position and soothe.

What’s different now is the way Henry clings to him, the way the younger man just gives up control, lets him have his way. He isn’t used to being in charge, but it’s something of a rush to feel Henry’s gasps against his lips as he slides his fingers under the waistband of Henry’s jeans, popping the button open and tugging them down Henry’s legs. There’s some maneuvering involved in stripping them down, especially since Henry seems hellbent on leaving a considerable mark on his shoulder as soon as his shirt is off.

And before he can kick their clothes onto the floor, Henry tears his mouth away to say, “Wait, I put… there’s… stuff... lube… in my jeans.”

He arches an eyebrow, and Henry at least has the decency to flush in embarrassment.

“I’ve been thinking about this for awhile,” the younger man chuckles, shrugging innocently.

“You planned this.”

“Beats waiting for you to ditch your conscience.”

Ryeowook just shakes his head, fishing the small tube and condom from Henry’s pocket.

When he turns back, he finds Henry’s spread himself out on the bed, legs on either side of Ryeowook’s hips, knees bent. It makes Ryeowook a little dizzy to think what that means, that all of Henry is there, bared for him. Only him.

The sound that escapes Henry’s lips as Ryeowook pushes the first finger inside is barely audible, but Ryeowook catches it. He presses a kiss to the inside of Henry’s thigh, sucking at the skin a little. He pulls away only when he’s satisfied a bruise will form. Henry pants below him, chest working with his clipped breaths. Long, violinist’s fingers sink into his hair, but only as an anchor, something to ground Henry.

Ryeowook reaches up with the hand he’s not using to prepare Henry and tangles their fingers together, squeezing just as tightly as Henry does.

“Please, Hyung, I need—”

But Ryeowook already knows what Henry needs, and he fits another finger in to cut off Henry’s words. He’s as gentle as he can be, because he wants this to be good, for both of them. He’s not heartless, even if he knows they shouldn’t be doing this.

Ryeowook is in knuckle deep when the younger boy lifts his head. Henry’s bangs stick to his forehead with sweat and his lips are pink and swollen from how much he must have been biting them to keep the sounds of his moans in. Ryeowook’s stomach bottoms out, heat pooled in his groin and he’s the one that moans then.

Henry smirks, but the expression is half-hearted. “I’m not going to break, Hyung.”

Ryeowook can’t help but laugh, because the words are so familiar, so close to the ones he’d muttered at Jongwoon years before, when Jongwoon had been careful and too patient.

He pulls out, not missing the whimper that leaves Henry’s lips and reaching for the condom. He slips into Henry with little resistance, mind blanking pleasantly as heat surrounds him. He gives Henry time to adjust, waits until the wrinkled brow smoothes and Henry’s breath evens out. He grips Henry’s hips tight and leans over, trailing his lips along the other’s jaw.

He’s waited too long for this.

Sinking his teeth into the hollow below Henry’s ear, he pulls out, pushes back in, and moans as Henry chokes on his own breath. It’s good, so good. Henry beneath him, around him; stuttering out his name with every thrust.

He wraps his hand around Henry’s cock and it takes one, two, three pumps of his fist for Henry to spill over his fingers. He feels Henry’s orgasm as if it’s his own, coursing through him with every broken gasp and high-pitched whimper, every contraction of muscle around his cock.

He whispers Henry’s name into the younger’s neck when he comes.


End file.
